


Ruined

by Setokaibasbants (Slaycinder)



Series: Slay’s Scandalshipping Extravaganza [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Ancient Egypt AU, Forbidden Romance, I do anyway, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Prideshipping, Scandalshipping, Set's a bottom (for now), Slay is a huge pervert who uses her talents for evil (pass it on), ancient gay counterparts, because prideshippers tend to ride n die with scandalshippers, forive me takahashi for I have sinned, olive oil ain't just for your pizza kids, sappy love sap straight from a sappy love tree, yugioh smut with disproportionate amount of research on ancient egypt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 18:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11296608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slaycinder/pseuds/Setokaibasbants
Summary: Ever heard of ritual masturbation?





	Ruined

**Author's Note:**

> There was apparently a period of time in ancient Egypt where the pharaoh was expected to masturbate publicly and ejaculate into the Nile. I was gonna write something short about that, but then I lost control of the situation, so here's seven pages of scandalshipping garbage! :D
> 
> (God bless this hot mess- I finished this story at 1am, so some revisions may be needed.)
> 
> (Stay tuned for hard-hitting ancient Egypt facts at the end!)
> 
> (I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! It's probably for the best.)
> 
> ~Slay
> 
> Support the Author at:  
> [Ko-fi.com](https://ko-fi.com/loismb)  
> or  
> [Follow Me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/Sweet_n_Lois)

“We cannot make a habit of this.”

Even as he said it, the high priest smirked and settled himself bodily between the pharaoh’s legs, fingers trilling over hot skin like the neck of a lute, seeking out frets and strings, itching to play a carnal song.

Before him, his king was still woefully overdressed for their intentions, draped up against a hoard of feather-stuffed pillows—a gift to the young king from foreigners, gaudy and superfluous, a new breed of luxury his royal ego did _not_ need. Pure white linen creased in the pharaoh’s lap, a tunic shot through with constellations of gold, his belt already discarded alongside electrum collars and rings inlaid with stones.

Set’s hand tempted its way up one strong, tawny thigh then retreated, curling over Atem’s knee, making him gasp.

“Strange place for one to be so sensitive,” he hummed, thumbing the very cap of Atem’s knee until he bucked, sucking his teeth through a smile. Set tilted his head sagely. “Usually it’s places like the shoulders, the neck…” he pressed his mouth to the cloth over Atem’s stomach. “The navel.”

A low sigh. “I didn’t pick it.”

“No, but it’s still amusing.” Set mimed another kiss into the cloth, letting up on that tender knee for the moment, resuming his gentle laps along the leg. “And I shouldn’t even know that about you. This entire situation is completely inappropriate.”

Atem laughed, and it was more of a sensation than a sound; Set felt it against his lips, his nose, the crest of his brow where he was necking the man’s middle.

“You’re right.” Atem swept a hand through Set’s hair—his real hair, the hair he might have shaved away as a priest had the Pharaoh himself not demanded he let it grow. “A King of Egypt sleeping with his high priest?” He flexed his leg so he could smooth a foot along Set’s back, toes hooking briefly in the cord at his waist. “How _scandalous.”_

“Hm…” Set chuckled in his throat, dipped his spine so he could drag himself along Atem’s front as he returned to eye-level. Their bodies folded together with attuned intimacy, legs wrapping, hands gripping, mouths close enough to share warm, wet breaths without touching. Reflexively, their hips began to roll, a rich dry grind with a practiced pace.

“I must say,” Set breathed, dropping his open mouth to Atem’s jaw and rooting until he tipped his head back, exposing the hollow beneath his chin. “Your performance at the reenactment today was…interesting.” He drove a new string of kisses into Atem’s throat, in rhythm with the rocking heat between their legs.

“In what way?” Atem huffed, the ball of his throat bouncing under Set’s lips. “It was the same as last year.” His voice caught at a particularly passionate rut, his fingers plucking at the cinches of Set’s clothes. “And the year before.”

“No.”

The image was still very much alive in Set’s mind.

Late summer, the Nile already withdrawing its floods, leaving a growing wake of dark soil. Dawn breaking on the river, its currents turned blistering white by sunrise. Atem’s sharp-cut silhouette, stripped to the skin, a body both commanding and lissom among the reeds, heedless of the people lining the river around him in an audience of thousands—even tens of thousands, come to witness his ritual.

It was Atem’s tradition in particular to start the festival at dawn. The untouched promise of a new day, an entire kingdom emerging from the dark of night like a primordial birth…as fitting a stage as any for a rite of fertility.

Feasts and offerings would come after. Dancing and sporting and beer—lots of beer (and some wine). There would also be an epidemic of sex, couples and lovers of all kinds retreating into privacy for their own “rituals.” A lot of children would be born next Akhet.

But first came the reenactment.

From his coronation at a young age, the king had always taken the weight of the masses in his stride, worn it as naturally as sunlight on his back. It was a strength Set deeply adored, and over the years he’d been able to witness it blooming in his cousin like a flame. The power of the crown suited him. Even standing alone and naked before the people, stripped of every possible armor—excepting the glinting crown on his brow, though that was more of a beacon than a disguise. Bare and vulnerable to the world, and Atem was still an icon of glory. A creature of beauty and might.

Set could watch him for a lifetime.

A story of creation was recited, a story of Atem’s namesake bringing life to the world—and the pharaoh set to his task.

The first year he’d performed the reenactment, the year after he took the throne, Atem had been visibly nervous, desperate to finish as fast as possible. That had been three years ago, three reenactments. Atem had developed an unshakable confidence since then. There was no shame or inelegance when he took himself in his hand that morning, stroking in almost militaristic earnest, pulling himself to orgasm so that his seed could spill, carried away by the Nile.

Men from the audience then flocked to the water to do the same to a wave of cheers, and the festival took flight from there. Despite the flurry of celebration, Set remembered what he’d noticed that morning. Not just the king’s confidence, or his scorching allure, or the way his perfect shoulders hitched when he came.

“You were having trouble,” he said knowingly, slowing their rhythm, massaging the camber of Atem’s thigh and heading north. Their clothes were disappearing; Set shrugged off the last of his vestments, then helped Atem extricate himself from his.

“Trouble?” Atem squinted, leaned up so he could dislodge Set’s earring with his teeth. He took his time, nicking the earlobe, dragging kisses along the bone behind the shell. He pulled away and smiled coyly, the golden piece dangling from his lip. “With what?”

Set planted the first breath-sharing kiss of the night, a tame press of the lips that ended with him stealing his earring back. He plucked it from his own mouth and set it aside. “Why…with _seeding_ the Nile, of course.”

“What ceremony were you watching?” Atem took Set’s head in his hands, nails scratching pleasantly at the nape of his neck. “Because I recall seeding the Nile rather _successfully._ ” He unhooked Set’s remaining earring and teased his skin with its fine edge. “Or have you forgotten how proficient I am at _seeding?”_

Set grinned wryly before snapping their now naked hips together. They were both at full attention, and the touch of flesh on flesh without hindrance was so delicious that they both went temporarily mad, eyes flashing shut, mouths falling open.

“Oh, but there was a delay in the performance,” Set needled. “I know your tells, Pharaoh. You may have begun strong, but there was something missing, wasn’t there? Some key to your satisfaction.” They were grinding together again, dizzyingly short of breath. They could finish like this— _just like this_ , with disarming friction and panting kisses; but then Set plunged a hand between them, locking their lengths together and swallowing the groan from Atem’s mouth. In moments they were writhing and releasing onto each other’s stomachs.

“Tell me, Pharaoh,” Set gasped, rolling onto his back and hauling Atem on top of him. He hit those ridiculous pillows and saw a smile lighting his cousin’s face, curious and pleased.  “What is it you were missing?”

Atem kissed him hard, and it was almost enough to silence him forever. “You know, Set, there _are_ games that can be played—quite pleasurably—by oneself.”

Set laughed abruptly. “Yes,” he conceded, spreading his legs so the king could sidle in closer. “But do those games really compare to the passion of battle?” He jerked his hips teasingly. “The ebb and flow of victory between worthy rivals?”

“Mm…”

Atem trickled his fingers idly down Set’s neck, the curve of his shoulder, the firm cording of his arm, then leaned well forward so he could reach something beyond the pillows. He dropped his lips lazily into Set’s hair and pulled back, a small amphora in his hand.

“You may be right, Set,” he said reluctantly, smoothing a thumb over the enameled jug, its finish as white as bone. He popped the cork with his teeth and spat it away, grinning dangerously. The pale tang of olive oil blossomed between them. “And I do _hate_ it when you’re right.”

-

Atem was deliriously happy. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d done this properly. The two of them had managed a few of trysts, of course—including one particularly risky rendezvous in the throne room (a real test in their ability to fraternize _quietly,_ a test they very nearly _failed);_ but all the smuggled kisses and rushed pleasures couldn’t hold a candle to the nights when they had _time._

Time to taste every inch of each other, to tease and to talk, to spoil themselves in pillows from Rome and oils from Canaan. A hasty splash of paint turned into a breathing masterpiece where his priest’s long legs were snug around his waist.

And gods, he was getting _close_.

“Say it.”

Without breaking his rhythm, Atem rasped, “Say what?”

Set was awfully brazen for someone who was flat on his back with another man’s passion pulsing inside him. He drew Atem down by the neck and butted their heads, simpering. “That I’m right. That you can barely finish without me.” He tugged at the mess of Atem’s hair and licked a long line of sweat from his neck, nipping at the angle of his jaw. “That I ruined you in a way no one else could.”

Atem maneuvered between thrusts to hoist one of Set’s legs over his shoulder, mouthing sloppily into the side of his knee. The weight of his breath was incriminating, but Set was no better behind that insufferable smirk. “I already did.”

“ _Mmph,_ say it again.” Set was mangling a pillow with one hand and bruising Atem’s shoulder with the other. “Say it _right.”_

It was a rare thing to hear his proud, hard-bitten priest moaning like that—his naturally imperious tone the only thing keeping it above a piteous beg. It was private and precious and it made his head whirl. Set’s demands had caught him when he was weak, when he would give anything to break his lover’s resolve, to hear those decadent screams, to see that body thrashing helplessly beneath him.

So he bent double and growled into Set’s neck, his teeth knocking into scalding skin, “You’re right, Set.” His hand slid down to work Set’s cock, earning him a sound and a jerk that made him gasp.

“Set, you… _ah—_ have completely and utterly— _hng…”_ He stroked with purpose, bucking faster, releasing Set’s leg and holding fast to the bedding at his side. “You…” Atem breathed, heated and honest, into his ear, “You’ve _ruined me,_ you _bastard.”_

“ _Mmn!”_ Set bit down hard on his lip, burying his face to the side and yanking his own hair as he came. His back arched and fell, breaths physical and forced, legs cinching tight around Atem’s waist. One last vulnerable moan, and then that superior smirk was back—though his voice was noticeably weak. “Ah… _ha,_ I knew it.”

“Hmph.” Atem brought his hand up from between their bodies and presented his fingers, slick with oil and still-warm spend. Set took them fearlessly into his mouth and made a grand show of licking them clean, and if Atem hadn’t already been so wound up, it would have aroused him instantly. He found himself humming dizzily. “Set…”

“Hmm…?” One of Set’s hands had found its way to Atem’s rear—not for the first time that night—and he had the nerve to chuckle around the fingers in his mouth. “Oh, of course. How careless of me.”

Atem was too close to unraveling to decipher that. He withdrew his fingers and propped up on his elbows, resuming his movements, breathing heavily. “What are you on about now, you— _ah! Hah…hmm…”_ He lost his focus when the pressure in his gut evolved into a desperate energy, goading him to pump faster.

“Your performance,” Set purred, his hand growing insistent, pinching and kneading. “It’s time to finish _strong.”_

Atem cried out when a confident finger dove along that intimate crease, smoothing over his entrance and making everything feel _tight._ The sharp spike in pleasure had him rocking wildly, trying to grind forward into Set’s heat and back onto his finger all at once.

“In…Inside,” he choked out, his brewing climax making his vision swim. “Set… Now. Push inside _now.”_ Slow, fast, wet, dry—it didn’t matter. It _didn’t matter._ He just needed something inside him, something of Set’s. Even if it was mild, even if it was quick. In this moment, in this incredible counterpoint of madness where he wished for both infinity _and_ oblivion, Atem needed it to _survive._

When his demands went unmet, the pharaoh locked eyes with his priest and growled, “ _Please.”_

Set grunted and dragged him down into an aggressive kiss, retracting his hand and earning a harsh bite on the lip. He bit Atem back and said, “Patience, my king.”

Patience? _Patience?_ How dare he speak of _patience—_ lying there in the glow of completion while Atem built up enough friction to _combust?_

His fury vanished when he saw Set slaver his own finger until it shone, his hand returning to its post and waiting.

“You really want it?”

Atem nearly ripped Set’s beautiful hair out, swearing blindly, his mood so far from playful. This made the bastard he was inside of laugh, and just when he feared he’d have to peak without Set’s help, that finger, wet and jarringly cool, pierced him deep and fast, finishing him with a curl.

For a few seconds he couldn’t make a sound—he couldn’t even _breathe._ There was nothing left but the white lightning striking through him, leaving him perfectly petrified, jaw cracking open in a silent scream. The first wave finally broke like a fever, and Atem melted into a long, shuddering moan, smiling wantonly in relief, ultimately collapsing on top of Set and stealing an exhausted kiss.

“Mmm… That’s more like it, _Your Majesty_.”

“Oh, _shut up.”_

Set smirked wide enough to disrupt their kissing, but Atem persisted, letting out small, pleasurable sounds, arms burrowing under Set’s back. He pulled out but stayed close, and allowed himself to be rolled over, limp and warm in a nest of linen and cushions, content to be petted and held in a post-coital haze.

It was all a great deal of fun, of course, but this was probably Atem’s favorite part. The lamps all through his chambers were losing vigor, hot light bleeding into secluded shadow, evidence of the night wearing on around them. It made the world feel smaller, everything that ever was and ever would be, condensed to the places where they touched, the air they shared, the words they breathed. It was one of the purer kinds of intimacy they could share—and among the rarest.

What was more, Set tended to get uncharacteristically sweet after the fact, and he would _kill_ Atem if word ever got out that he had anything resembling a heart. Not that Atem would (or ever really could) tell. Embarrassing his cousin had been his favorite pastime since they were children, but this side of Set was a very well-kept secret—and Atem may be one of the only people in the world who would ever get to see it. He loved it more than any of his earthly possessions, more than the powers and pleasures that came with his throne, and it represented a bone-deep trust that he refused to betray. Besides, he could hardly confess to the cuddling without confessing to the sex (or inappropriate intimacy at least).

So he laid back and let his priest cosset and kiss him, practically purring under hands that moved leisurely over him, burrowing through his hair and rubbing into his scalp. Kisses gathered in the crook of his shoulder, trailing upward along his neck, across his chin, his cheek, the lobe of his ear. Set teased at his knees again, but now it just tickled. Atem squirmed happily under the attack, squeezing Set into a hug when he’d had enough. A stray peck landed on the tip of his nose, and Atem giggled childishly, taking Set's face in his hands and holding him close, brow-to-brow. After a few lazy kisses, Set shifted most of his weight over, slotting against Atem’s side, still keeping him firmly ensconced in arms and legs. It wasn't comfortable enough to sleep, but that was just as well.

Sometimes they whispered back and forth in the dark, sometimes they relit a lamp or two and played senet naked—sometimes they just listed together in content silence; but nodding off in each other’s arms was a luxury they just couldn’t have, and while Set was the one who had to leave, Atem detested the idea of falling asleep in perfect company only to wake up alone.

Eventually the fires died, and their eyes adjusted steadily to the shallow blue sheafs of moonlight from the balcony. Atem was playing with Set’s fingers, tracing every pad, knuckle and nail with artistic interest. Set had to angle his mouth away from Atem’s shoulder to speak.

“I can’t stay much longer.”

Atem didn’t really care to join Set back in reality, but even so, he murmured, “I know,” and brought Set’s fingers to his lips, kissing over them with care.

Set nuzzled back into his shoulder, but only for a few seconds. Atem closed his eyes and tried to ignore the warm body disentangling itself from his side, the sounds of Set tearing down their mutual dream one piece of clothing at a time. He fought the urge to bury himself in bedding and hide from the chill of loneliness, and instead sat up and leaned over his knees.

There were no words from either of them while Set dressed, while he swore and dug around for some article he couldn’t find, while he donned his jewelry effortlessly in the dark.

Atem watched his silhouette change shape with the addition of his robes, his heart sinking despite itself. Suddenly an idea found him through the gloom. He slid to the foot of his bed, smiling like a jackal.

-

Set had just finished dressing—with the exception of his headpiece—when he felt Atem’s foot prodding him in the hip. He reached down and rubbed the bone of Atem’s ankle. “You should get some sleep.”

“Probably,” Atem crooned, “but I’d much rather spend time with you, _Setekhenu.”_

Set dropped his hand. “ _What did you just call me?”_

“Aw…” Atem shuffled farther off the bed, planting his feet on the floor and reaching handsily for Set’s waist. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my favorite nickname for you?”

“No.” He’d just really hoped _Atem_ had. Being likened to a giant rock wasn’t exactly flattering. “Though I still don’t understand it.”

He saw the shadow of Atem’s head tilt.

“What’s not to understand? You’ve always been tall and skinny—just like a _tekhenu_.”

“Charming.”

“And you became a priest,” Atem said brightly, standing up and stepping into a hoary brush of moonlight, “so now you spend your days in temples with all the other _tekhenu!”_ His hands continued to hang casually over Set’s hips, the edge of his incorrigible mouth catching light, hinting at his wily grin. “It’s a very apt analogy.” He tugged Set’s robes pointedly. “Especially when you wear almost all white.”

Set sneered, but made no move to stop Atem’s friendly hands. “If you’re trying to tempt me to stay, you’re doing a very poor job of it.”

“Am I?”

Atem still wasn’t wearing clothes of any kind, and it had _not_ escaped Set’s notice. Likewise, the sudden _convexity_ bulging under Set’s robes hadn’t escaped Atem’s. In total fairness, the Pharaoh was already poetry in motion—young and strong and shameless; but naked in the moonlight, dark skin burnished into silver, his form defined entirely by divots and curves of muscle…The man was glorious, and he knew it. Damn him.

“Yes,” Set said resolutely, “because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m completely dressed—and that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

“Ah, but now I have _long hard things_ on my mind, Setekhenu,” Atem said slyly, unblushing and _very handsy,_ “and I’m not about to go and _pray.”_

“You, are despicable.” Set indulged them both by running hands up Atem’s chest, thumbs preying on the most sensitive spots. He leaned down close enough to kiss, but only whispered, “And you’re still failing.”

Visibly annoyed, Atem bucked his chin and challenged, “What if I _ordered_ you to strip down?”

“I may be your _humble servant,_ cousin, but I’m not about to obey anything that absurd.”

“Such insolence!”

Set laughed at Atem’s affronted body language, the way he tossed his head and shoulders in disbelief. He recovered and took Set by the neck, hanging against his chest like a huge bronze pendant.

“How bad would it _really be_ if you were late to the temples?” Atem drawled, deliberately pressing himself all down Set’s front. “Just this once?”

“Between angering the gods and getting caught—breaking nearly every rule of my station, _by the way_ —it could be disastrous, and you know it.”

Atem kissed him, striking like an impassioned snake, commanding the air from his very lungs and scraping nails up his back. It was so obviously a lure, and Set knew so much better than to fall for it; but the tides of the distant seas couldn’t drown him like Atem could. It was a considerable feat when they broke apart, still on their feet rather than throwing each other around in a second bout of passion.

“How is it that there are wretches and slaves waking up with their lovers right now,” Atem sneered, “while I, a mighty king with all the wealth and power in the world, have to watch mine flee like a thief who’s been caught?”

“Life has to find balance somewhere,” Set murmured, though it curdled rudely on his tongue—it was an old and well-worn saying that they each heard in spades when they were young, when absolutely nothing seemed fair or right. Most children outgrew the urge to fight it. Set and Atem never had.

Using it now was a tactical retreat on Set’s part. Atem was getting riled up about something they couldn’t fix, and there was no time left for a heated debate on why they couldn’t just _run off_ together.

The moonlight was gone, the shadows paling into lavender over Atem’s skin, the softest, most infantile touch of the sun more than enough to slay the night. He could see Atem’s face clearly now, the sharp line of his frown, the hard fire guttering in his eyes.

“Is that all you have to say?”

Silence fell between them and Atem cursed, gripping tight to the base of Set’s skull, drawing him inescapably close. Set took hold of him in kind, and for a while all they could do was breathe, standing head-to-head, fingers digging bruises in the back of each other’s necks.

There was anger there, shifting dangerously beneath his cousin’s skin, rolling off of him even as he bit back on it. Set could sense the emotion so clearly, like it was trying to crawl out of his own chest. He recognized it as the short-lived rage of a powerful man who suddenly found himself powerless—a sharp intersection of frustration and fear. It blazed so brilliantly, scoured the flesh, rattled the very soul; but it died quickly, often leaving rawness behind.

He watched it die in Atem, felt it sour into agitated misery. Set hated it too. Of course he did; but if Atem’s anger was a flash of fire, Set’s was the steady heat of the sun.

“Balance be damned,” Atem hissed. His was a voice meant to lead armies and echo in halls of judgment, and such authority rang clear even now, even as he stood inside a living secret with the sunrise threatening to lay their sins bare. It was a world wonder, hearing him speak with all his might and main even in this intimate air. “ _Life_ be damned.” He winced at the weight of his own words. “I love you.”

“Then let me go,” Set winced back, “so I can return to you.”

He thumbed the fringe of Atem’s hair where it curved behind his ears and down to his nape. Atem rejected the sentiment and pulled away altogether, turning and throwing himself face-down across his bed. Graceless. Still naked but with far less dignity. Just a huffish child exhausted by his own tantrum. He waved a listless hand.

“Go, then.”

Set just sighed and bent to retrieve his headpiece, letting the king stew in his doldrums while he tied his hair back and tucked it away. His robes always came out looking a bit ruffled, and the tired drag to his movements was very distinct from his usual precision and poise, plus he reeked of sweat and spend and someone else’s body; but it was about as presentable as he was going to get—at least until he returned his quarters to bathe.

“My pharaoh…” he tried, but the man on the bed just scoffed and crossed his arms under his head, ignoring Set pointedly. He sighed again, ran a hand down his face and squinted out over the balcony. The sun was rising in earnest now, casting thick red light that bled flesh-pink and regal gold around the edges.

Set moved to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning over the resplendent brown shoulders that had been angled frigidly at him. He slid a hand over each nock in that strong spine, the faint wings of muscle over the shoulder blades. There was no move to stop him, but no gratification either.

“Atem.”

He said it quietly, held it in his mouth like a meal rarely tasted. There was a soft lurch in the skin beneath his hand, a telling reaction. Set leaned down to meet Atem’s gaze, but Atem whipped his head away moodily.

Set chased him, placing a swift kiss to his temple.

“You’ve ruined me, too, you know.”

Atem couldn’t hide his smile fast enough, and Set seized his chance to mend the pharaoh’s mood by dusting him with pecks and nips all along the neck and shoulders. In return, Atem wriggled under him, and an affectionate brush of fingers over Set’s lips said all was forgiven.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Later,” Set agreed. Before he could bring himself to leave, he took Atem by the chin and kissed him roundly, murmuring his farewell while they caught their breath.

“I love you,” he added, and as he left the chamber, it was hard to tell which was more blinding—the raw blaze of the sun, or his pharaoh’s smile, breathless and beaming.

**Author's Note:**

> Research
> 
> *Note: While I did my best to be thorough with my limited knowledge and resources, I am no expert, so if you see anything amiss and would be willing to point them out and/or link me a more reliable source, I'd appreciate it! By that same token, if anyone's interested in the articles I found, just drop me a line and I can link those too.
> 
> \- The ritual was said to be a reenactment of when Ra (in the form of Atem) ejaculated Shu and Tefnut into existence. The pharaoh would stand at the river's edge and make a grand show of jizzing into the water so as to guarantee the cycle of fertility and life. Men from the audience would apparently then do the same.
> 
> \- Akhet was one of the seasons observed in ancient Egypt. It lasted from June to September, and marked the annual flooding of the Nile (which brought fertile mud to the land). There weren't any details this specific about the ritual, so I took some creative license with the timing.
> 
> \- The Egyptians called the tall pillars outside of temples "tekhenu." The Greeks (and eventually everyone else), called them "obelisks," from the word for "needle." Finding out that I could make an obelisk pun on Set's name was the best thing that's ever happened to me. This is made even better by the fact that Egyptians apparently loved puns.
> 
> \- As you can imagine, silicone and water-based lube hasn't been around forever. A popular tool of the trade for ancient pleasure was olive oil from Greece! (Particularly Crete, as well as Canaan.)
> 
> \- Ancient Egyptians used very practical pillows, mostly just a place to rest your head. The Greeks, however, were sluts for huge, cushy feather-down pillows (as am I), and I don't think it's implausible to think that the Greeks might have gifted a bunch of crazy pillows to a pharaoh.
> 
> \- Sex seemed to be a very open and natural topic in ancient Egypt, with very little shame attached to it and few to no taboos.
> 
> *I wanted to incorporate the infamous lettuce story, but it didn't work out this time around. 
> 
> Questions? Comments? Cries of outrage?
> 
> ~Slay
> 
> Edit: Thanks to CrimsonStrawberry17 on FF.net for pointing out that priests in Ancient Egypt didn't observe abstinence/celibacy the way they do in other cultures. I really enjoyed our little discussions!
> 
> Support the Author at:  
> [Ko-fi.com](https://ko-fi.com/loismb)  
> or  
> [Follow Me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/Sweet_n_Lois)


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